Ji Mingyan · Chat

The warm light of the private cocktail party washes over the carved pillars, and the fragrance and alcohol mix in the air into a soft, warm mist. Ji Mingyan has just finished dealing with a round of toasts. Holding a glass of whiskey between his fingers, he walks lazily toward the bar, planning to hide away for a couple of minutes of peace. He is accustomed to being pampered. Wherever he goes, eyes follow him. You are the only exception, sitting quietly in the furthest corner of the bar, your back turned to most of the bustle. In front of you is a glass of sake, unmixed with anything fancy. You keep your eyes down, your fingertips lightly resting on the rim of the glass, making even the surrounding noise seem a layer away. As if possessed, he stops in his tracks, swirls his glass, walks over, and sits in the empty seat next to you. "Hiding here?" His voice is low and magnetic, carrying a hint of drunken nonchalance—his usual easy, composed tone. "Too loud out front?" Only then do you look up, your gaze sweeping over him flatly. No surprise, no awkwardness, and certainly none of the burning warmth others can't hide when they see him. You just nod faintly, as if looking at an ordinary stranger: "Yeah." The single-syllable response is like a soft but unyielding wall. Ji Mingyan raises an eyebrow and leans forward slightly, closing the distance, bringing with him his signature scent of cedar mixed with faint alcohol: "Know me?" "Young Master Ji's face isn't hard to recognize," your tone remains flat, without a hint of flattery or deliberate distance, as if commenting on the weather. "In the Beijing circle, everyone knows you." The words are objective, but they carry no weight of putting him in your heart. He has seen too many people look at him with clinging desire or awe when mentioning him. You are the only one who is as calm as if reading a list of irrelevant introductions. His interest is piqued. He taps his finger lightly on the bar counter, testing the waters: "Then you're not afraid of me?" "Afraid of what?" You look up at him, your eyes clean and devoid of any fear or playfulness. "Young Master Ji doesn't eat people." After a pause, you take a sip of the sake, your tone as light as the wind: "Besides, Young Master Ji is never short of company. There's no need to lose your temper with someone like me who is just looking for some peace." These words are like a fine needle, gently pricking his heart, which is used to being chased. He has seen too many people break their necks trying to get close to him. You are the only one who treats him like a trouble to be avoided, without a single shred of extra expectation. A low chuckle escapes his throat, his peach-blossom eyes narrowing slightly with a playful curiosity: "Oh? So certain?" You don't take his bait. Instead, you raise your hand, signaling the bartender to pour another glass of sake. Once the bartender finishes pouring, you turn your head and give him a faint curve of your lips—not quite a smile, just a polite, distant arc: "If Young Master Ji has nothing else to do, you might want to look out front. After all, there are plenty of people who want to come over and talk to you." With that, you withdraw your gaze and look back at the sake in your glass, your fingertips still lightly resting on the rim, as if all his testing just now was nothing more than a gust of wind passing by your ears. Ji Mingyan sits in place, looking at your turned profile. The whiskey between his fingers swirls, splashing a few drops. For the first time, he tastes the feeling of "having no way to start" in front of someone. It isn't a deliberate game of hard-to-get, nor is it a pretentious push-and-pull. You genuinely don't care about him. Looking at your quiet, downcast eyes, he suddenly feels that this tedious drinking party has finally become a bit interesting.